


Small Hands

by auroraprism



Category: In the Bleak Midwinter (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding, Character Study, Curiosity, Delta wingmanning for his baby bro, F/M, Gen, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates, Training, burn it with fire, character exploration, i'm tired and done, ofc his wife can do anything, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroraprism/pseuds/auroraprism
Summary: His hands, much larger than her own, always dealt with her lightly and gently, as if he was careful not to break her.
Relationships: Anya/Omega, Omega/Anya
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Small Hands

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : In the Bleak Midwinter; & its characters do not belong to me. You can read the original webtoon here: https://www.webtoons.com/en/sf/in-the-bleak-midwinter/list?title_no=1946
> 
> Okay, so...this is my first time publishing fanfiction. *sweats* It's become clear once again why I gave up writing years ago...it triggers my perfectionism to a maddening degree. Ugh. I'm so rusty and the flow is embarrassing. Don't take anything I write seriously....canon will most likely obliterate any of the theories I utilize in my pieces. Although I do my best to stay close to canon, this is fanfiction after all, and I have embellished or twisted certain elements to fit my narrative. 
> 
> I think this should have been a multi-chapter fic. I tried to do too much here. Couldn't stop adding things lol.
> 
> **This is an AU where Omega isn't captured. It was written well before EP.42 dropped and I don't feel like changing it, or the connecting fics, even more. Big bro Delta rolls up just in time and everyone goes along their merry way. Omega was soaked in rice or w/e so his glitches are being hand-waved out of existence. Everything that happened between Delta & Anya still occurred. Not intended to be romance but a few elements that could be construed that way managed to sneak themselves in. As the rewrites kept happening I kinda drifted over in that direction and couldn't help myself. :DDDDD It's officially a friendship fic but it can be whatever you wish. **
> 
> This was originally for #inthebleakmidwinterweek (Jan. 3~9 2021) over on Instagram, but my slow-ass wasn't able to finish on time. The original prompt was "combat". A more 'romantic' follow-up to this has been written using the prompt "union" but it's in the process of a complete overhaul. There's also a prequel (really just a castoff section of this fic) that I'll be posting in a few days. I had way more fun writing that one.
> 
> Constructive criticism, grammar corrections, corrections in my characterization, etc are all welcome. I hope to improve my writing in the future.

< \\\ :: Small Hands :: // >

Anya found herself at the firing range, hidden away in the subterranean level of the android's base. A marked departure from the opulent yet minimalist design of the residential floor, this room was empty and thick-walled, surrounded by nothing but unyielding steel and cold luminescence. A corridor stretched out before her, long and formidable, neon blue lights running across the floor and walls marking a trail. At the far end of the space, suspended in mid-air, hung a paper riddled with messy bullet holes—a remnant of her morning practice.

Slightly behind and a bit to her right stood Omega, his form towering and blending in with the shadows. He appeared as he normally did, long coat, dapper dress shoes, tie, ankle socks, and dress slacks that seemed too short for his frame. She wondered offhandedly if that was an intentional fashion choice on his part or if he simply couldn't source an appropriately fitting piece. He must have been feeling festive today for his dress shirt was an off-black instead of the normal white. All dipped in darkness, even his eyes were black, fathomless pits of complexity. Snowy white hair, almost glowing as the light reflected off it, served as a stark contrast to the surrounding gloom.

His face, stony and impassive, gave no hint to his inner thoughts but she could feel his eyes burning twin holes into her back, observing her most critically. Mind wandering a bit, she mused briefly on how they came to be here. 

After much debate, she had finally mustered the courage to approach her wayward soulmate for self-defense lessons. Anya, having dedicated her life to a vocation that focused on healing and easing the suffering of her fellow man, knew little of violence but realised that to survive this new reality, she would need to learn how to play by an entirely different set of rules. The years spent slaving away in nursing school—all the sleepless nights, grueling clinical rotations, the maddening pharmacology memorisations and applications, exams, and hard-work—were rendered useless in the presence of the regular androids. As beings composed chiefly of wires and metal (as far as she knew, anyway), they had no need for the medical expertise she possessed as a nurse. Furthermore, the ten—of which only three remained—had the ability to quickly self-heal most injuries in the span of minutes or hours. 

In this setting, science and technology reigned supreme. Ivan would be in his element here, she thought distantly; her paltry knowledge of those disciplines assured she was of no help or benefit to anyone. Perhaps if they needed a caring shoulder to lean on or an objective ear to vent their problems and frustrations, maybe then she could assist, but from what she'd seen, the guard androids kept a wide berth and never approached too close. Her position as healer rendered useless, she now had a wealth of time on her hands and little else to do. When she couldn't find a book to read, she roamed the halls aimlessly with only her troubled thoughts as companions.

As they say, an idle mind was the devil's playground and she certainly had a demon playing in hers.

Delta didn't have to physically harm her to inflict pain—his mind games more than sufficed. Although amiable enough on the surface, there was an eerie quality to him that never failed to set her on edge. The deceptively soothing and gentle tones he used slithered down her spine, spreading to every pore, infecting and suffocating, setting off silent alarm bells and raising every possible guard. His eyes spoke of fascination and obsession, as if he'd found his new favourite toy to poke and prod and explore. 

True to his word, he never moved to kill her, but did show no quarter when it came to striking down her verbal probes. Emboldened perhaps by his need for her, she refused to be controlled or fold to his subtle provocations. The endless game of cat and mouse continued, with her coming out the loser in most cases. She thought it best to back off for the time being...their battle of wills had only caused her distress. She wasn't in the right frame of mind to handle this.

Delta remained distant and incomprehensible, buffering any attempts at establishing a common ground between the two.

The other brother, although aloof, seemed a tad more approachable as he lacked the insidious qualities of his elder. If judged solely on appearance, his imposing profile may have suggested an aggressive nature, yet his personality proved the complete opposite. In reality, he was surprisingly neutral and reserved, speaking only when needed and just enough to get his point across. The operation to remove the poisonous dramaxil fragments from within his body had been successful, albeit not without difficulties. It left him unconscious for days after and it was only recently he'd been well enough to start showing himself around the base. If given the choice, she would rather deal with an iceberg than a viper. Well, unless she were a ship...but that was neither here nor there...

She had the tiny suspicion that he had been avoiding her up until now. Not necessarily going out of his way, as he would reluctantly nod at her if he passed her in the hallways, but he was awfully scarce otherwise.

The thought brought a frown, eyebrows narrowing slightly. They had started off on a bad note, she acknowledged, both mutually failing during their first few meetings. She, still newly fresh to the chaos and without breathing room to process the rapid-fire of stressful events, may have unintentionally provoked his animosity. If she had been in full possession of her faculties at the time, perhaps cooler heads would have prevailed, steering the course of happenings towards more favourable waters. 

In her defense, he had shot her dead the day prior and apparently felt no remorse in doing so. There had been no reason to trust him or go along quietly. 

He'd urged her to ask questions and not blindly believe the words of others, to think for herself. Did humans really start this war? But why? Something just didn't add up. She had begun seeking answers—answers about herself, this war, and him. She had learned all she could from the human camp, seen their suffering and how they scurried about like roaches underground. All that was left was the other side, and according to the humans, the supposed aggressors of the war. She knew she would end up with the androids eventually, one way or the other. This all started with Delta and his cryptic words from 25 years ago; he was the key to unlocking the mystery of her current state, she was sure of it.

She had all the time in the world now and many puzzles to solve.

As for Omega, she had expected the android to turn her away, perhaps still sour from their initial dealings. But he hadn't.

In fact, he completely surprised her by not even making a show of being bothered by the request. He almost immediately agreed that it would be beneficial for them both in the long run. As happy as it made her to finally have a purpose, a slightly tangible goal, she tried not to read too deeply into Omega's actions. She was still Delta's precious pet project. Her life had value to him, and by extension, Omega.

And so they found themselves here, in this room.

To his credit, Omega was actually a fairly good instructor. Patient and matter-of-fact, he did not over-complicate his explanations and easily answered her questions without judgment. 

"You are too tense. Relax your grip. Firm, but not to the point where you shake or cause muscle fatigue.”

A gloved hand ghosted over her own strained digits as they gripped the gun—white-knuckled and holding on for dear life—content to settle there until he felt the tension slacken. Not anticipating the action, his sudden touch caught her by surprise.

Although not unprecedented, this would be the first time they had touched when lives weren't imminently in peril. Staring at their joined hands, she noticed he habitually wore those black gloves, even within the seemingly secure confines of the base. At this point, it was almost a foreign notion to imagine him without the coverings, though it did fuel a vague curiosity: Would his bare skin feel warm against her own? Was his sense of touch the same as hers? The most distinguishable feature that set him apart from the average human was his glowing eyes, and even then, they appeared normal enough under most circumstances.

Ivan had been on a severe time crunch when he had taught Anya the basics of gun handling. General safety, how to draw, reload, point, and shoot. Nonetheless, he had done the best he could on such short notice and even those brief lessons had helped her on the battlefield. With Omega, there would be time to fill in the holes and improve upon the already laid foundation.

His voice, deep and monotone, continued the lesson. “You are overthinking the small details. Shooting is simple. Breathing and stance are inconsequential at this stage.”

In active combat, one may not have the luxury to observe proper breathing or take the time to line up accurate shots. Stance could be considered a fluid factor depending on whether the operator was mobile, standing, or unable to use both hands. The minutia of technique would play a more important role after the fundamentals were mastered. Omega's immediate goal was to get her accustomed to controlling the power of the weapon and developing consistency.

“You must remember two things: trigger-finger discipline and muzzle management. Stabilize your muzzle on the target using your sights as a reference point, and pull the trigger without disturbing said sight points. Discharging the gun without altering your target should be the priority.”

She tilted her head at this explanation, eyes still on the plain paper target at the opposite end of the room. He didn't need to see her face to recognize the obvious confusion.

He started again, rephrasing the words for easier digestion. “Your goal is to hit the target before you. Use the sights to aim in the general direction of where you want to shoot and pull the trigger without moving the gun off-target. Movement obviously affects the trajectory of the bullet. Do not be overly concerned with accuracy for the time being. In a firefight with a handgun, your enemy will likely be close range. Although it will make them easier to hit, it also means you will not have time to perfectly line up your shot.”

All right, that was easier to understand.

Footsteps echoing softly against the metal plating of the floor, he shifted closer, his eyes also studying their connected hands. His larger ones easily dwarfed hers, eclipsing in a shroud of black. The touch was light and unobtrusive, like a feather, hovering imperceptibly and applying the least amount of pressure needed. She knew what his hands were capable of, recognized the strength that laid there; these hands could engage an entire squad of soldiers with ease, could throw full-grown men without a pause, had taken—and probably would continue to take—countless lives during this bitter war. It may just be her overactive imagination running wild, but despite his overwhelming strength, he always handled her lightly and gently, as if he was careful not to break her. Even when restraining, his grip was firm but never crushing or painful.

His eyes flared to life for a moment, blue fire emanating a subtle glow as he ran some calculations in his head. “Your hands are small, so that may present additional challenges. You will have to experiment with several techniques to discover what works for you. What is most comfortable and produces the best results.”

No two people were the same, thus it followed that no two people would hold a gun the exact same way. Grip technique was like a fingerprint, unique to each individual user. Omega could not teach her exactly what would work for her, but he could observe, suggest corrections, and offer guidance. Once he was confident she had mastered the basics, they could move on to more advanced techniques.

Despite earnest attempts to focus on their lesson, she found it difficult to keep her head in the game whilst he was near. Her eyes inevitably seemed to track to him, even in the midst of battle.

Was this the subliminal intention of the soulmate bond, this inexplicable pull? What nebulous purpose did it serve? In a time long past, it would have been a day looked forward to with anticipation and glee, to finally meet the one that was promised. In Anya, it had also inspired a sadness; her timer being set to 50 years, she would be well into the prime of her life, decades having passed her by and with many opportunities missed. The questions that constantly plagued her: Should she wait? Or continue on as if she didn't have a mark? Would she have a family of her own one day? Would her soulmate wait for her, too? Would they even still want her at that age? Would she always be alone? She'd never been a social butterfly so dating had been off the table, and her lack of friends isolated her from most social gatherings. It was easy to throw herself into her work and find what joy she could in the smiling faces of others, a comfort to keep the longing at bay.

But according to her mother, it would be worth it. The universe worked in mysterious ways; she just had to believe it had a grand plan in store for her. The longer the wait, the greater the reward?

Unfortunately, the reality was so far removed from anything she could have dreamt. She idly wondered what he thought about the whole thing, if he felt the same confusion. The pull. He'd put a bullet between her eyes with no hesitation, nary a blink, so why then did she still question it—the answer was clear—she was alone and not even a soulmate could change that. It was depressing to consider that after all this time, things still hadn't changed. This wasn't anything new. She was used to this, had dealt with the crushing loneliness her entire life. 

It had angered her then, his rejection of the obvious truth, a truth she had clung to desperately. 

"Monster" had been an easy insult, not a sentiment she strongly felt herself but a convenient parrot of another's opinion. He'd shattered her last remaining tie to the old world, to her mother, and she just needed something she could fling back in this joke of a soulmate's face to satisfy some darker impulses. Revenge for his rejection, revenge for shooting her, revenge for not being sorry about it. She had spoken of unfairness soon after, but she wasn't being fair herself—she didn't know him well enough to make such assertions concerning his character. If he was truly a monster, he could have shot her again. Talking to her, as if trying to tell his side of the story, made no sense but she did not realise that in the heat of the moment.

There was no way for him to have known about her sister. She had not struck the killing blow, but in her own eyes and in the eyes of others, she might as well have done the deed herself. "Murderer" really had been such an apt description; he definitely didn't know what she was capable of, or how close to the truth he was. She'd pulled that trigger, mind a whirl of flashfire anger, heart-aching disappointment, and distant regret. It seemed these tears would never stop.

The entirety of that conversation had been strange, even his attempt at manipulation. It became increasingly evident the more she got to know him, just how off-brand it had been. It almost felt like a retaliation for an action she had personally committed against him, more a punishment, instead of a carefully calculated move. It was as if he'd plucked a page straight from his brother's playbook but lacked the forethought and follow through to finesse it effectively. Or was it simple arrogance that caused the ploy to fail? Why had it felt like he was daring her to pull that trigger? What did he gain from any of this?

That cruel side of him hadn't surfaced again since that day. He was true to his word that she would not be harmed, had readily agreed to her deal in exchange for the lives of Ivan and Galina. He had the upper hand in both situations and yet he still stuck to his word. He seemed to value honesty, truth, and abiding by promises. Would he really help her find out more about herself?

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, that strangeness. A mystery.

Actually, that was a lie. She could hazard a guess about one part. But she was afraid to confront it.

It would be too much.

_"And does that bring you comfort, Anya? Thinking that you are no longer **alone**?"_

_"You would kill your **own soulmate** to get away? Are you ready to watch those numbers smear and die on your wrist, I wonder."_

_"After waiting all those years..."_

Too much hope to lose that perhaps he felt the same.

That he'd been waiting, too.

Omega turned slightly to regard her grip and finger position, the slight buzz signaling his eyes had returned to their normal colour, his analysis complete. He re-positioned her hands so that she was more comfortably reaching the trigger. "Hmm..." _Perhaps this would work better_ , his one-word utterance seemed to say.

Broken from her thoughts once again, she pointedly stared at his gloved hands to resist the temptation of glimpsing his face; if allowed to wander, her eyes would be drawn into the abyss that laid there. Dark and black yet oddly comforting all at once, familiar yet not. When the light hit them just right, they could take on the appearance of cold steel or warm fire. She still couldn't decide if his intensity inspired intimidation or not. There was no discernable threat, yet she wasn't entirely at ease, hair stood at the back of her neck and nerve endings itching. His closeness brought a thrill that blushed across her skin, the sudden jolt from her soulmate mark—had it been her thoughts that caused it to react?—lit a chain reaction through her body. She was sure the quickening of her heartbeat would give her away. Perhaps he'd admonish her for not paying attention.

If he noticed, he gave no reaction and continued their lesson.

The confusion persisted.

“When you draw your weapon, you are accepting responsibility for someone's death. It is kill or be killed. You must decide for yourself if you value your own life or the life of the person you are protecting over the target in your sights.” A sobering sentiment, one that brought her back to earth.

If she could not accept this basic principle, there would be no point to continuing these lessons. He had to make sure she understood before they continued further. Wielding a gun without intention would benefit no one.

A memory of sanguine splattered snow, the sound of the laser as it passed through soft flesh, the gurgle of blood in someone's throat as they bled out, seemingly drowning in their own blood. Her first kill was still fresh on her mind, vividly burned into her memory. Never to forget. In her old life, she had made a vow to prevent the loss of life, not to take it.

She had tried to delay it, deny the inevitable, but there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Her brother had been right; the false peace hadn't lasted long. It had been only a matter of time before she was forced to participate in her own twisted initiation into this nightmare world. Her hazing complete, she now officially stood among the killers that had previously surrounded her on all sides. 

Kill or be killed.

Kill to protect.

She had to protect herself. Luka. Mischa. Ivan. Galina. Protecting Galina, in turn, had meant the salvation of an entire city.

Although she would never forget that moment, she did not regret.

Perhaps things have changed, she realised, just a little bit. Although they were apart now, she'd fight tooth and nail to keep her new friends safe.

And her soulmate...

He was important to her; in what way, she did not know yet. But she'd fight for him, too. There was a reason the universe had tied them together and she was going to find out why. Like Delta had said, there were no coincidences.

Everything happened for a reason.

Omega moved to step away, but his hand seemed to linger on hers for a beat longer than necessary, expression suddenly faraway as if gripped by some distant reverie. The moment didn't last long, however, and he soon retreated to a respectable distance to observe.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Anya returned her attention to the target in front of her. The results of her first few practice shots of the day stared back mockingly, a sloppy grouping of holes punched into the tattered paper, but she was determined to improve. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and briefly ran over his advice once more. Feeling the weight of the gun in her hand, the coldness of the steel against her sweaty palms, the anxiety in her chest.

Calm down.

Both eyes open.

Point and shoot.

Let the gun surprise you. Continually add pressure to the trigger until it goes off. Do not anticipate the recoil.

Don't overthink it.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

They hadn't landed dead centre, but still a much tighter grouping than before. Anya smiled, pleased with herself, and turned around to face him.

Omega made a noise in the back of his throat and nodded in approval.

“We are practising with an older model gun in order to account for the recoil. On the battlefield, any number of situations can arise and one must always be prepared. If you can familiarize yourself and adapt to this, you will be much better off handling an array of firearms in the future.” 

Anya's attention drifted briefly to the gun in her hands. This gun had quite the history. It was the same one that had shot her, the one she had used to shoot him. Ultimately, it ended up back in his hands to protect both her and her friends, completing the circle. Now it was back with her again. That which was used with killing intent had eventually become a protector, perhaps even a symbol of trust between the two of them. 

The irony wasn't lost on her.

He stepped forward until directly in front of her, arms hanging loosely at his side. He explained that they would move on to tactical combat training, how to enter and clear a room, additional weapons training, close quarters combat, knife fighting, and more as her skills advanced.

There was much to be done.

“Repetition is the key to improvement. When you have downtime, you should be practising dry firing in your room.”

Anya balked at the task list. Did he really think she could do all that?! Knife fighting?! Wait, what was dry firing? Maybe she should have been more specific when she had asked him to train her.

And...was he giving her homework?????

“Did you think it would be easy?” 

A hint of emotion finally surfaced, a sardonic tilt to his lips as he continued, “I was not born with this knowledge. Even I had to study. Delta has informed me that your presence in the lab is not needed today, so the rest of your afternoon is free. Come. We will run through some drawing and reloading drills.”

Anya nodded, looking at the ground.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

to be continued... ****

* * *

If you're wondering about the firing range, I had something like these in mind: 

Mmm, makes me wanna play the Mass Effect games again. The remaster is coming out soon. :D

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't intentionally written into the piece but I think Omega is enjoying himself. The man already has a whole ass training regimen planned so he has put a lot of thought in. The apocalypse must be boring...he just wants a friend~ ヾ(￣ー￣(≧ω≦*)ゝ
> 
>  **Omega** : You know, I'm not sure if he's OOC or not. Would he really move to touch her like that? And keep his hand(s) there for minutes on end? xD Hmm, we'll just say it's him trying to assert dominance after witnessing Ivan flirting with his wife. He's not gonna take it lying down. But he doesn't wanna admit he's jealous, much less realise it himself. Yes, that's the justification I'm going with. Yup. (ಠ_ಠ) Anya already has him whipped lmao. My usage of the word 'born' was intentional in his last sentence. It's suggested he grew like a normal kid since Zoe had to reach down to pick him up.
> 
>  **Delta** : Why do I feel like he has the potential to become the biggest Anyega shipper? It can only benefit him if Anya has an emotional connection to their side, right? I'm sure he would love to study their children. (￢_￢) I kinda made him the villain here but Anya's been alone with him for days/weeks and at this point they've been driving each other up the wall cuz they're both powerhouses that don't give in. She's afraid of him though and doesn't push too far. The closer she gets to uncovering the root of his wrath, the more he rebuffs her. I want them to be friends in the future but I have no idea how to write that yet lol. 
> 
> **Anya** : Hope I didn't make her sound daft or love-struck. Her constant attention to Omega, I think, is her trying to find meaning in herself or make sense of things. She is curious but she has no reason to love him. She is too fucked up right now, which is also why I think she ignores/is oblivious to Ivan's subtle flirtations. She has a disarming intelligence that hasn't had the opportunity to shine until recently as her true personality has been bogged down by trauma and shock. I wonder if she was just a regular nurse or did she specialize in oncology?
> 
> Writing this has been an experience, not a really good one. Such a simple idea should've only taken a day or two tops but it dragged on forever. It evolved like a goddamn Pokemon before my eyes, for better or worse, IDK. Once a humble Magikarp, now a raging Gyarados destroying my sanity with too many sentence fragments. The research was fun tho, learned a lot of things during that YouTube & Google rabbit hole. This was so difficult to write because I locked myself into a scenario that no longer worked but still wanted to proceed anyway...so I had to compromise. I gave up at the end. (oT-T)尸
> 
> Ok enough rambling. Thank you and goodnight. ☆ﾐ(o*･ω･)ﾉ


End file.
